


Playing With The Boys

by psychicdreams



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: AU, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1615814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychicdreams/pseuds/psychicdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zell Dincht's the hardest hitter on his baseball team and he loves the game more than anything. Only one thing keeps it from being perfect however: the assistant coach, Seifer Almasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing With The Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in 2007. Probably not very good. AU...as far as I remember.

There was no more beautiful a sound to Zell Dincht than the clang of his bat hitting the baseball. He never had time, once the hit connected, to watch the flight of the horsehide ball since he was always running full out for the first base in front of him, but he could always feel it soar with his high spirits. No matter how low to the ground he got, no matter how long the slide, his happiness never dipped and always at the last second as he became safe on the base, he’d glance up to see where the ball would land.

Whenever he was batting, he never heard the sounds of the crowds. He never heard his coach. He never heard his teammates. All that remained was silence and that round little ball as it sped toward him. His mind would automatically work out every trajectory and whether it was safe enough to swing, but until he reached that first base, there was no sound except for that of his breathing.

He dusted himself off, taking a minute to catch his breath, as another of his teammates stepped up for his turn in the rotation. He silently urged his friend on, making it a good hit, good enough to bring him home. They were on the last inning and his heart clenched spasmodically whenever he thought about the fact that the scores of the teams playing were neck and neck. They hadn’t played against a team this good in a long while and he was out of practice dealing with the tension.

Zell’s eye judged the distance between where he was and the next base and wondered if he should make a run for it. This team didn’t know him; they didn’t know how risky he ended up being when it was this close to the end and unsure whose victory would it end up being. He licked his lips, edging a little way past the guard near his base and noticing that he wasn’t paying as much attention to Zell as he should have.

The coach caught his eye and silently began to urge him to do it even as he avoided making any movement of his head so others couldn’t see what might happen. His gaze shifted back to the pitcher and he bent his knees just a little. All attention was focused on the batter and though it didn’t leave him much time, he knew that if he wanted to steal second base, he had to wait until _after_ the pitch had been thrown.

His teeth gritted, feeling sweat side down the back of his neck and he urged the pitcher mentally to just throw the damn ball. The tension was as thick as steel wires and he flicked his gaze, barely lasting a second, at the scoreboard then back. The time was running out. He didn’t want a tie. He wanted a _win_.

The ball was let loose and barely seconds after it had left the pitcher’s hand he was speeding over the ground. He wasn’t the fastest runner, he knew, but he was good enough. He could see the horrified looks of the guards he’d left behind. His teammate had swung and missed and the catcher was frantically tossing the ball toward the second baseman. Zell feared he wouldn’t make it. If he didn’t, they’d lose the game. There wouldn’t be time enough for another of his team to make a full round on the diamond.

He twisted his upper body, just barely avoiding the tag out from the baseman and landed flat on his back on top of the white cardboard base. He could feel the concerned eyes of his friends on him, wondering if he was okay, but he merely grinned and stood up, pumping his fist in the air. And whenever a miracle like that happened, he blessed his deceased father for his insistence that he take up martial arts.

Zell had always been a small kid and though he’d never say it, he thought his father had been a tad disappointed. Determined to make sure his son could take care of himself, Zell had been pushed and prodded and forced to take any martial arts lessons that could be found. He’d done it so many years, ever since he was five, that after twelve years, his body instinctively moved to avoid anything coming his way.

He hadn’t realized at first what an asset his ability could be in baseball. It hadn’t been until he’d literally dove in a perfect roll underneath an opposing player to reach a base that he noticed he’d done it and that it had been the only thing that had saved his hide from being tagged out.

The other player grumbled and despite the fact that the team was new and had just moved there, he sent a good-natured insult at him. Balamb was a relatively small town and all the teams knew each other. Sure, there was rivalry, but it was all in good fun more than anything else. Opposing teams could coexist peacefully with each other and half of their members had childhood friends on different sides.

Zell would never tell his friends that bigger cities and bigger teams had repeatedly scouted him, but he always told them that he had no interest in it. He liked to play the “sandbox games” as they put it. Liked feeling tension only in the game and not having to wonder that when he left the showers that another group of players from a rival team would try to corner and beat him up.

No, he was happy to stay here with his mother and his friends in the small “hick” town.

During his introspection, they’d already had three strikes and their last hope, in what time they had, had come to the plate. He could feel the seconds tick down further in his mind and knew he had to be as fast as a bullet if he wanted to get their team to win. He had to have a straight shot toward home base.

He caught his teammate’s eye and a silent message passed between them. The grip on the bat tightened and the tension grew thicker. He needed nothing less than a homerun hit. _Needed_ it if they were going to win this game.

The bat connected on the first pitch, but even as he began to run, his heart sank. He didn’t think the outfielders could catch it, yet it wasn’t hit with enough force to give him the time he needed. The sand kicked up behind him as he ran, hearing the cheers, the shouts of the other team as they passed the ball from one to another. He dove under the arm of the third baseman to avoid tag out and with an impulse that his assistant coach had always damned, he kept running.

A gasp rippled through the crowd and he heard the cursing of both sides at his stunt. Now it was a race against the ball, to see who would make it first. Almost there, just a little more few feet, and he would win the game.

Just as he slid, nearly tripping, and touched the base, the sound of the umpire’s whistle pierced the air. He looked up hopefully for the verdict…

\---

“Awesome damn job, Dincht!”

“Zell, you are nuts!”

“Didn’t think you’d pull it off. I would have bet _money_ you’d never do it.”

“You were like a blur as you ran, I could barely see you!”

Zell let the cheers and chatter around him keep his mile-wide grin in place. There were pats on his back that were enough to knock the wind out of him and the whole locker room was abuzz with talk about his stunt. The whole stadium had been completely silent as the Umpire decided whether call ‘out’ or ‘safe’. Zell had held his breath in anticipation and his heart nearly stopped beating when ‘safe’ had been shouted.

He’d almost been suffocated by his teammates as they had rushed in an ecstatic mob. The relief and smile on his coach’s face was a bit rare, but he saw it before he’d been hit with the tidal wave of players. He’d also bitten the inside of his lip at his stinging side, thanks to his last slide, when more arms than he could count hugged him.

The noise in the locker room petered off as he found himself alone. He had specifically stayed last so that when he undressed, no one would worry as they saw the faintly red side. He winced, knowing his mother would give him a lecture for not taking care of himself over this and reached up for a bit of cool salve to stop the dull pain. His mother always complained that he played too hard and too fast, but Zell was always the type to put his everything into something, no matter what it was or what would happen to him.

He heard the door open in the silence incredibly loud and looked up curiously. Had someone forgotten something? He peered around the end of the row of lockers and wished he hadn’t. Only when he saw the person did he wince again, not with pain this time but something almost close to fear. His assistant coach. Seifer Almasy.

“…Heh heh. Uh, hi Seifer. Whatcha doin’ here so late?” He tried to keep his voice steady and couldn’t help some of the apprehension that he unwittingly let show.

“That was a very stupid stunt, Dincht.”

And like always, the criticism made him stiffen. Perhaps it was stupid. If anyone else had said it, he would have shrugged it off and had to agree, possibly. However, any sort of ‘critique’ from Seifer always ended with him riled up and shouting. It was an instinctive reaction, even when it was said without invective.

“It won us the damn game, didn’t it?! So back off, will ya?! Geez, _nothing_ makes you happy does it?! Can’t do anything right by your standards, can I, you bastard. That’s why I don’t _bother_ trying to please you, Seifer, since you damn well will find fault with everything I do! What does it _matter_ how I did it, so long as I _won the damn game?!_ ” He turned away in disgust and pulled off his cleats so he could change out of his uniform, which in retrospect was not probably the best of ideas at the moment.

He heard Seifer approach from the doorway but was too angry to care. As if to specifically stoke his mood worse, Seifer refused to let the issue go. “Oh, so it doesn’t matter how you get it done, then? So even if you have to destroy yourself to do so, you’ll win the game? What exactly do you think would have happened if you’d injured yourself and was unable to play in the next game? You’re one of our best hitters.”

“I’m not that fragile! Just because I’m a little shorter than you don’t mean that I can’t take care of myself!” He stomped up to his feet and jerky, angry movements dragged off his uniform pants and on with some jeans. Whipping around, his furious blue eyes stared right into Seifer’s almost-calm green ones and held out muscular arm, gesturing to it to further his point. “See, you asshole?! Just _look_ at those muscles! I’m small, but I’m built like a damn tank. I can take a helluva lot of a beating, probably more than you can, you skinny…skinny…gah, you’re stupidly tall and skinny, okay?! I can’t think of a word right now, but I can probably hack a fight better than you can!”

“Oh, I’m looking Dincht. I’m looking.” That voice had dropped to a purr and with it so did Zell’s stomach to his feet. Damn. Damn, that was _not_ good. The look in Seifer’s eyes had changed from derision to something else entirely; something hot, and he could feel that gaze take in every inch of his exposed chest. “In fact, I’m thinking about doing more than looking.”

“Uh…” His hand fumbled behind him in search of his t-shirt as he backed up against the lockers next to his open one. “I, uh, think that I’m, um, gonna get dressed and go home. Ma’s expecting me back soon, said she’s, uh, gonna make a roast or somethin’. So, uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat and realized belatedly that he should _not_ have stayed late. Considering what usually happened when he was alone, he really _should_ have known better.

“Oh, I’ll let you go home in time for dinner.” Seifer had followed him, blocking him from escaping and Zell winced. He tried not to shiver as suddenly soft fingers were running down his muscled chest and abdomen. He knew what was coming, like he knew every time before it had happened, but somehow it was always so surprising that he let out a yelp when Seifer’s hand descended into his pants.

“S-Seifer, stop this man, or I’ll get angry,” he muttered, trying and failing to sound intimidating when his voice was shaking and his face was blooming red. Seifer made a very lovely twist of his wrist and Zell groaned, becoming further and further erect under the constant ministrations.

“And if you get angry? What will you do?” Seifer chuckled in his ear, licking along the shell and he shivered again. In the back of his mind, he knew that he could easily break what little hold Seifer had on him. Could push him away with just one shove. And even while he consistently asked himself why he didn’t, he knew the answer.

He was always _very_ conscious of the strength that he had. After one argument three or four years ago, when he’d been fourteen or fifteen, and he’d sent a boy to the hospital for a week, he’d avoided getting into fights. He didn’t want to hurt anybody and though his temper did get the best of him with Seifer, he had never once gone all out. Sure, he might have punched him once or twice, but it was with little strength behind it. He didn’t want to break anybody’s jaw, nose, or arms again. His father had really let him have the worst lecture he’d ever had and had been grounded for a month.

“Push me away, Zell, if you don’t want this.”

That insistent voice in his ear, so low and _seductive_ made him pant. He desperately wanted this to stop, he wasn’t gay by any means, but Seifer was just too good at what he was doing. It was turning his limbs to jelly and combined with his own reluctance to hurt anybody, it made resistance completely impossible. “I don’t want to,” he gasped, hands going down to grip Seifer’s wrist and attempt to tug him away.

A faint bit of surprise in the other boy’s voice now. “Why not?”

“I…don’t want to hurt you.”

There was a suspicious silence after that, but he couldn’t bear to open his eyes and see what expression Seifer was making. Whatever expression it was, it affected him enough that suddenly the hold on his erection changed. He was pumped harder, paying attention to all his most sensitive of spots until Zell was whimpering and crying out a little, dreadfully glad no one but them were there.

It didn’t take long after that for him to release and he kept his blushing face averted. Assistant coach he might be, lifetime rival as well, but damn could he make Zell feel good. This always seemed to happen when he stayed after. He couldn’t remember how long ago it started, at least six or more months, and he didn’t understand the reason behind it either. He just didn’t _get it_. Was this a new method that Seifer had developed to show just how despised he was by the other boy?

Seifer pulled his hand away and out of the corner of his eye, Zell saw Seifer lick his slick hand. A faint smirk was on his lips, one that Zell wanted to wipe off almost violently. “Told you that I’d let you go in time for dinner.”

After that, Zell could only slump to the floor as Seifer left and questioned why it was all happening to _him_.

\---

True enough, he had gotten home in time for dinner that day, though his mother yelled at him anyway that he hadn’t taken a shower while he’d been gone and to hurry up and change before he sat down at the table. Every time she asked him how was practice, the game, and his teammates were, he hated it. He hated lying, because that was what he did. He talked animatedly about the game, but whenever he finally got around to talking about his friends on the team, part of his throat choked up. He just _couldn’t_ say that he was being sexually harassed by his assistant coach.

Zell had overheard his coach talking to another team’s sponsor about Seifer, which was the reason why that no matter how they argued, he never said anything about why Seifer just didn’t play instead if he was so damned sure he could do better. He hoped that Seifer thought he just never thought of it, not that he knew and was purposefully avoiding it. He had no interest in hurting anyone, physically or emotionally. He just couldn’t back down when Seifer insulted him. He didn’t _hate_ him or anything, just found himself rising to the bait.

Seifer had, apparently, been one of the best runners anyone had ever seen back before he’d moved to Balamb. They said he’d been like the wind, that no one could catch him once he started. He’d been so fast that both coaches had been surprised to find him on the baseball team rather than in track.

But in a twist of cruelty, in the very last game he had ever participated in, one of the boys on the rival team had deliberately kicked him on the way past. From what he’d heard, Seifer had spent months in the hospital recuperating and had been told by the doctor that he’d never run again, that’s how terrible his knee had become. Though the other boy had been punished, thrown off the team, and was generally scorned, it hadn’t helped apparently. Shortly after that, Seifer had moved to Balamb and had been there for almost a year and a half.

Given what had happened, Zell had been shocked when he’d wanted to join their team. Yes he knew that he couldn’t play anymore, he’d said, but he still wanted to be there, so their coach had made him his assistant. For all the fact that Zell disliked him most of the time, even he could see that Seifer had a very uncanny ability to judge and figure out others’ prime strength. Thanks to him, their team had gotten a lot stronger with everyone based in an area in which they excelled at.

He didn’t have an argument with Seifer’s work. He had an argument with Seifer’s shitty personality. Almost from day one, he’d picked on Zell and belittled him, but that had been okay with Zell since he fought back. It was only when around six months ago that he’d started to corner Zell alone, started to…to…

Zell couldn’t even give it a name, he was so embarrassed about it. Every time after it was over, he berated himself about it, that he could have pushed Seifer away while keeping most of his strength reigned in. Then his logical side, what there was of it his Ma would tease, would tell him that there was no way he’d be able to moderate that strength, not with his emotions running so high.

He rolled onto his stomach that night and buried his face in his pillow. It wasn’t that he was gay that he didn’t have a girlfriend. It was that baseball was his love. Baseball was where all his energy and interest was focused on. He’d been asked out, once or twice, but he’d never even gotten to the kissing stages with them. They’d always break up when they found out he talked about nothing but baseball. Some of them had told him that he had no interest in them, hadn’t even tried to kiss them. Well, that was true enough. They said he treated them like ‘friends’ not a _girl_ friend.

And the familiar irritation filled him. He’d told them he loved baseball whenever they asked him out, just to make sure they knew and were okay with it. He’d told them it was his priority. Hadn’t they _listened_? Why did they keep insisting on making dates on game days? Did they think he wouldn’t go just because of them? Did they not understand his devotion to the game, how much he loved it? So why was he always the one getting all the blame when they broke up with him when he’d _told_ them?! It wasn’t fair at all! Girls weren’t fair, not at all.

Did Seifer love baseball that much too? Is that why that when he moved, he had asked to be apart of it even if he couldn’t play? Did he love it so much that he couldn’t imagine being without it, no matter where he was? Zell liked to think so, because then it would give him at least one thing in common with Seifer. Not that he cared what Seifer liked or anything, since most of the time he disliked the other boy, but still…He didn’t hate Seifer, not really. He hated the attitude, how he was always insulting. If he didn’t insult him every chance he got, they could be good friends.

Or so Zell liked to think.

\---

_“Really, you have such a beautiful form when you’re swinging the bat. The way all your muscles bunch up in the tension, how you twist at the hips when you swing the bat forward…”_

_He panted, hands suddenly fisting in Seifer’s shirt and dragging him close spasmodically when the pressure tightened on his already painful—_

“Gah!”

He woke with an almost silent gasp and clutched his racing heart. Had he forgotten to mention the dreams he’d been having the last few weeks, all thanks to that Seifer Almasy and his stupid torture method? It made him want to hit something hard in frustration, that Seifer could affect him during practice, afterwards, and even into his dreams. He wanted nothing more than to head toward the dojo and work it out, but he had school to go to.

High school didn’t disagree with him all that badly. He heard of students and their horror stories, about how their four years were the worst they’d ever experienced, but he found nothing untoward about it except the fact that Seifer was _somehow_ in most of his classes. Out of six per day, he was in four of them and if there was something he could always count on, it was Seifer throwing an insult at him as he passed him by toward his desk.

And yet, Seifer was always saved from Zell’s rejoinders by the fact that the teacher came in after him almost in seconds and started the class. That only frustrated him more.

There was nowhere to go to get away from him since they’d end up together at practices. The only days he didn’t have any was Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. He went to the dojo during those days. Except on those Sundays that were game days, naturally, though. Whenever anyone asked about his schedule and he answered, they always looked so surprised since he was always up and about in the sunshine.

He loved the sunshine and outdoors. It made him feel alive. He loved to be moving rather than standing still. He wouldn’t know what he was missing if he wasn’t.

That was his routine. Whenever he would practice, he would mostly be at batting, since that was his strength, and he’d listen to the lineup for the next game, and Seifer would be here and there with other players to adjust, help, or berate them. Zell tried to avoid looking at him, because their eyes would always meet and then Seifer would smirk and he would glower and he wouldn’t pay attention and probably get hit in the head with a baseball again.

Zell didn’t miss that lately Seifer was keeping a closer eye on him than usual, as well as the coach. He figured they probably were concerned, but he had no intention of letting them know that he was sneaking into the stadium on his no-baseball-practice nights to the batting cage. They had splurged a bit on spending a year or two ago to get one of those machines that pitched at you, which he found he was exceedingly grateful for.

His shoulders from both left all the way to right had started to ache a lot recently. School had begun to get harder with his preparations for senior year; at the dojo they had a new teacher that worked them harder than ever; the other teams in baseball were getting harder and harder to beat. He knew his Ma was worried he’d wear himself out, but he knew his limits. He had no intention of stopping sneaking into the stadium at night after his Ma went to bed to practice, even when he had bruises the size melons on his shoulders from a rather violent throw earlier that day in the dojo.

It was only when he swore he heard something in his arms almost crack when he hit the ball that he almost keeled over. He dropped the bat and clutched his left, upper arm tightly. It felt as if an intense fire was burning just under the skin and his mind remembered back to his health lessons almost instantly. Probably he strained a muscle. He tried to pick up the bat again, avoiding a few of the balls so they didn’t brain him as the machine kept going, but he could barely even bend his elbow without searing pain.

“Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it,” he hissed angrily under his breath, tightening his jaw at the pain. Well, practice was over for tonight then. He’d have a shower here, then head home and put on some muscle relaxant or something and hope it would be good enough tomorrow to do something with it.

Zell kicked the machine absently as he shut it off, irritated at himself and not anything the machine had done. He hadn’t turned on any of the lights in the stadium, so no one would notice it was being used, so he didn’t have to attempt to turn them off as he descended into the clubhouse. Taking off his clothes was exercise in torture and he just let them drop to the floor outside the shower room. He’d pick them up later and it was only himself here anyway.

He only thanked god that it was his left arm and not his right that had gotten hurt. The water from the shower warmed up after an excruciatingly long time and he rested his head against the tiles tiredly. He’d been doing this for weeks now and he was exhausted. He fought the urge to just fall asleep, especially since the pain was abating now.

“Now is this a death wish you have or are you really just that stupid?”

Any hint of sleepiness completely disappeared and he whirled around. Seifer, fully dressed, leaned in the doorway and his green eyes were icy with displeasure and anger. “S-Seifer! Wh-What are you doing here?” So shocked at his mere presence at that time of night, he didn’t even register his own nakedness or that he should probably be worried, given the precedents before when they were alone.

“Did you honestly think that I wouldn’t notice? Coach Sumire has even noticed, dense as he is.” Seifer snorted, but there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. “Have you looked in a mirror lately, moron? Your skin is pale, you’ve lost weight, you’ve got circles under your eyes, and it sounds like you just did something to your arm out there.”

“How long were you watching?” he whispered fearfully. If he told Sumire about this, he feared he might be kicked off the team. At the very least, he’d probably get lectured and benched for a while just for doing stupid things. Sumire didn’t tolerate actions like this, what he called ‘idiocy’. He’d seen it happen once, when a player pushed himself too hard. He’d tossed him off the team and said he could come back when he’d thought about why he’d did it. Told him that he was making the _team_ suffer, especially if he hurt himself. “A-Are you gonna tell—”

“By all rights, I damn well should,” Seifer growled and came further into the shower room. “Just _look_ at you, Dincht. It’s no wonder your side was all red and bruised last Sunday! You’re trying to do too much and you’re killing yourself at it, or are you too stupid to recognize that?!”

Zell flared up with his own matching anger, but though his fist shook, he didn’t, _refused_ , to throw the first punch. To prevent himself from further temptation to do so, he turned away from that infuriating face and went back to his shower. The pain had settled down to dull ache now and he could, a little, bend his elbow without wanting to pass out.

“Like you give a fuck, you ass! You hate me and you’d just as well see me kicked off the team, huh?! You started in on me the moment you joined! I guess when you started _molesting_ me, you just wanted to up your _insistence_ that I quit, huh? Well, _newsflash_ you nasty piece of shit, I’ll _never_ quit the—”

He gasped in shock, cut off, when hands had gone around his hips and ran teasing fingers over him. Hell no, this couldn’t be happening! Seifer only did this barely twice a month and he’d already filled his quota! Sure, it had been happening a little more frequently lately, but this was too much! It was only a few days more from the last time and he didn’t want to do it in the damn shower!

“I kept trying to give you incentives not to get yourself hurt, but you’re far too dense to notice.” The voice in his ear, while low and seductive, also seemed to have just that vicious tinge of anger to it as well. “Didn’t you ever _notice_ that when you didn’t come away bruised, I didn’t tease you as much?”

“T-Tease?! You bastard, you insulted me!” He would have said more, but now his balls were being cupped softly and being kneaded and he lost all track of what he’d been thinking.

“Call it what you will.” Seifer didn’t seem to care that he was getting soaked and Zell braced his good arm against the tiled wall when another hand began to stroke him. He closed his eyes tightly, as he usually did, and brought his lip between his teeth to chew on. “You never noticed my feelings, did you?”

“Sumire’ll kick you off the team, ‘f he finds out,” he muttered out through gritted teeth, not understanding Seifer’s last comment. “Hates gays.” Sumire was perhaps the first person Zell had ever met that had a penetrating loathing of homosexuals, probably stemming from the fact that his brother was one. According to his own words, he hadn’t spoken to his brother in over seven years because of that.

“So long as you don’t tell him, he’ll never know.”

“So you _are_ —” He never got to finish that statement, since Seifer pressed his thumb on Zell’s tip, causing him to cry out. He didn’t know how, but tonight was somehow even worse, felt so much better, than all the other times before. This time, Seifer seemed to be taking his time, getting him as hard as possible.

Damn it, this wasn’t right. Zell would be damned if he was going to let this just happen as it had been for so many months. His position, with his back to Seifer, wasn’t that great and his left arm could barely move. But if he could somehow get Seifer…His right hand, that had braced him on the wall, moved backwards to grip Seifer’s crotch in what he thought would be victory.

Seifer froze, and he swore that the other boy wasn’t breathing. However, his triumphant grin faded in what he realized he found. He had somehow expected anything but this. Seifer was hard, amazingly so. He had thought…figured…that he’d be soft and was only doing this because…

“Shit, you can’t be serious,” he muttered, looking with shocked eyes behind him.

Seifer took a deep breath and his voice was calm despite the panic he saw in the green eyes staring at him. “Let go. You really want to let go.”

But Zell couldn’t, too frozen himself about the turn of events. Seifer was _actually_ gay? He’d never, ever thought of it. Looking at him, he was around six feet tall if not over a bit, and handsome as all hell. He was every girl’s dream and he was _gay_? As if not believing what he was touching, he gave the bulge a light squeeze and his eyes widened when Seifer let out a groan.

“I warned you,” was the only thing Zell caught with his ears before Seifer had spun him around, pinned him to the wall, and kissed him. He was too stunned do anything as the bigger boy had pried his mouth open and deepened the kiss until he felt like he’d never be able to breathe again. It was his _first kiss_. And despite wanting to beat the shit out of him for taking it, he also found his knees growing weak at the depth and passion that Seifer was pressing down his throat with his tongue. Before he’d even realized he was doing it, he’d begun to awkwardly respond.

Seifer’s hand was more insistent now on him than it had ever been before and Zell whimpered, feeling completely out of his depth. He didn’t know what to do, his mind scattered in a thousand places at once. He could feel Seifer’s clothed erection pressing against him, they were so close, and his face flooded with the worst blush he’d ever had. He could swear it was going on several minutes by the time that the kiss was broken. _That_ was one helluva first kiss, he thought in an abstract sort of way while he gasped for air.

“S-Stop,” he muttered weakly, lifting his good arm to push against Seifer’s shoulder.

Instead of stopping, Seifer guided that protesting hand around his neck and leaned in. He gently guided Zell’s legs on either side of his hips and that distracted Zell long enough that he didn’t notice a hand sliding down his back and pressing into him. Pain shot up through him and let out an indignant shout. As if he had expected that reaction and that was why he had moved his arm, Zell gripped Seifer’s wet shirt in a fist and clenched his teeth together so hard it gave him a faint headache.

“Relax,” came the whisper in his ear and he was in no state of mind to do anything other than comply. His eyes had, at some point, shut tightly together, so he was surprised when Seifer surged them both up, supporting Zell’s weight between himself and the wall. He yelped a little in surprise and his eyes shot open to dazedly look down. “W-what—stop, S-Seifer—”

“No. I’ve been holding back for months. Months!” Two fingers squirmed inside of him and though he would have not hesitated to say it felt odd, it also felt insanely good when they would brush over a certain area. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” And there was that trademark smirk that he had come to loathe. “The other guys said you never stayed more than a few weeks with any of the girls that asked you out.”

Zell bristled despite the fact that Seifer was doing a damn good job of making him unable to form coherent thought. He couldn’t tell what was warm water from the shower or his own precum anymore, he was so hard and his mind so hazy. “So what? Didn’ un’nerstan’. Love baseball.”

The fingers pulled out, much to his chagrin and he could feel by virtue of their positions that Seifer had shifted his hips a little. Was that a real smile or was he just imagining it? “So do I. Just like I love you.”

He ears were swimming with it all and at that moment, when the words were uttered, _something_ big and hard had replaced those fingers, so he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d heard what Seifer said correctly. It took a few precious seconds to realize that what was penetrating him was Seifer’s cock and that made him turn even redder than before. He winced in pain and forced his sore arm to lift and grab as best he could onto Seifer’s shirt like his right was doing. “Hurts…”

“Relax and it’ll get better,” came a delicious murmur in his ear and suddenly any other protests he had came to a screeching halt when Seifer stopped moving. When he realized that he was filled to bursting by something hard and hot; something that twitched between his walls and rubbed against that sweet spot in an insanely teasing way. “S-Seifer…!” He couldn’t tell if his voice sounded like it was begging or a whine and decided it didn’t really matter.

The sharp green eyes that he had always hated when they were icy cold and watched him were closed and he swore there was almost a heavenly look on those handsome features. As if he just couldn’t believe what he was feeling and that went for both of them, Zell thought. “God, Zell…so good…so tight…”

It was the first time Seifer had ever said his first name and it had a very interesting reaction in his groin. The way it was almost growled out, with a faint hint of reverence that he swore was probably his ears misfiring, was like a caress down his spine. He could feel that invisible touch travel everywhere over his skin like wildfire.

“Your arm…okay?”

“Who the fuck cares?” he snapped breathlessly, and like every other time in his life when he was filled with energy, he didn’t want to stay still. He twisted his hips and gave a scream when that hit that special spot almost too hard. His voice echoed weirdly in the room, bouncing off the walls, and shivering up his spine. No one would hear them, they were alone, but it didn’t stop his impulse to keep his voice down.

Seifer groaned, whether at his action or his scream remained unclear. “Slowly,” he muttered, Zell not sure if he meant to himself or him. Terribly slowly, Seifer pulled out and took the smaller boy by surprise when he’d whimpered in displeasure to push back in hard but the pace too slow.

“Faster…faster, Seifer…” he muttered, but Seifer refused to. No matter how many times he entreated, he demanded, he cried, the pace remained the same: hard and slow. It was enough to drive him mad with wanting and his hands tightened their grip in Seifer’s shirt, not even noticing that the boy was almost still entirely dressed and soaked.

Somehow in all Zell’s twisting movements to urge for a faster pace, his hip managed to hit the shower knob. With a bit of a shock, the water shut off and with it, the sound. Now there was nothing to muffle or disperse Zell’s open mouthed cries and gasps. Even when Seifer was busy kissing him senseless, the noise from the martial artist hadn’t abated any.

Seifer’s legs must have given out because suddenly he was dropped to the floor, head cradled from the fall by a hand on the back of his head. He automatically spread his legs wider and let out another piercing cry when Seifer penetrated deeper than expected. Zell had finally begun to notice that the more he screamed, the less control his partner seemed to have and he didn’t restrain his cries. Involuntarily it seemed like, the pace became steadily faster until Zell thought he might break.

It wasn’t until finally one of Seifer’s hands slipped between Zell’s legs and began to knead him lightly. He almost ripped Seifer’s shirt at that and writhed beneath the other boy. Pleadings and beggings and mutterings he swore later never happened fell from Zell’s lips and his hazy eyes watched with growing satisfaction at the discomposed face above him.

When Seifer pressed a thumb down hard on Zell’s throbbing tip, he entirely blamed his exhaustion that he passed out almost instantly after he came.

\---

“I can’t believe you’re gay.”

Zell had woken up, naked and on his stomach, in an unfamiliar room about ten minutes ago. He had frantically tried to sit up before his back _and_ arm protested in the loudest voices possible. The pain had been enough to almost knock him back out and he’d lain there for several minutes, blinking the snatches of white from his eyes.

Seifer had come into what appeared to be the bedroom at his shout of pain and without offering him any tea like he had for himself, had dropped down to sit on the floor next to the bed so that they could see eye to eye. Zell was sure he did it just to irritate him and he glowered briefly.

“I’m not gay,” Seifer replied calmly, not even bothering to look at him, as if the question wasn’t even worth his time.

“Yes you are!” Zell retorted hotly. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have…you _wouldn’t_ have…”

“I’m not gay. The only male I have ever remotely found attractive and reacted to has been you. Not even sure why, really. You’re only vaguely sort of cute, you’re far too hyper, you have no sense for your own well-being, and you make too many stupid stunts.” There was a pause and Zell stewed, trying to find something scathing to say in reply and coming up with nothing that didn’t make him sound like an idiot. Seifer stared at his drink as if it had held all the answers to the universe and finally shrugged. “I guess they could also be your good points and why I like you.”

“L-L-L-Like me…?”

“Of course. I already told you I love you.”

“I thought that was the water in my ears!” he defended when Seifer gave him an annoyed look that clearly said, ‘You are such an idiot’. “Besides, you treat me terribly! All you do is yell at me and you…you… _for months_.”

“I don’t even know when it began that I started looking at you differently. At first, you were like everybody else and I picked on you a little because it was fun. I liked baseball well enough that even when I moved, I wanted to be part of it, but I never loved baseball to the point I couldn’t live without it. I only wanted something to do after school to occupy my time. Then when things started to change and I started to really like you, the reason I stayed was because of you.” When Zell remained speechless, red but speechless, he continued as impassively as before. “I’ll make your excuses to Sumire tomorrow.”

“Excuses?”

Seifer gave him a jaundiced eye, as if he really despaired of Zell’s intelligence. “You can’t _possibly_ play tomorrow in practice with your condition. You’ll be lucky if you can sit.” He smirked and let Zell’s formless ranting wash over him before interrupting. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him you pulled it during your time at the dojo.”

“Sumire’ll kick you off the team if he finds out. Even if it’s just me, it’s still gay enough for him.”

“Don’t tell him,” was the answer, as if it was as simple as that.

Zell glowered at Seifer’s still collected attitude as he took a sip of his tea and hugged his annoyed pride by remembering Seifer’s discomposure during sex. How his control had just fallen apart and he’d looked like what he had experienced was the most wonderful thing in the world. Though it made him blush to remember it, it was still somewhat good for his ego that he could get under the boy’s skin.

A pause. “Hey, where am I?”

“My apartment.”

“…What time is it?”

Seifer checked his watch. “Nearly six am.”

“Oh _shit_ , Ma’s gonna kill me when she finds I’m gone!”

**End**  



End file.
